


simpatico

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: something concrete [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 19:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: He’d dropped by, once, to inform Angel that Buffy was dead. According to Cordelia, he’d hung around for a bit longer than he needed to—though he didn’t say it then, it was clear he had wanted to see Jenny.She was glad they hadn’t seen each other then.





	simpatico

**Author's Note:**

> backstory time: when i was attempting to write what would eventually become _the grieving process,_ i first wrote 6k words of a fic where giles showed up at jenny’s place after tabula rasa instead of in between s5 and s6. this is that fic. it isn’t exactly like _the grieving process,_ but they are very closely linked, so i consider them sister fics.

Jenny opened the door to find Rupert Giles standing there with a strange, glassy-eyed expression, like he wasn’t quite sure how he got all the way from Sunnydale to Los Angeles but still seemed fairly aware of the fact that he _was_ there, and now he had to do something about it. It was a painful experience, looking at him; she hadn’t seen him in nearly four years, and he looked very much worse for wear.

“I’m supposed to be in England,” he said. “Why am I here?”

“Not for some romantic-comedy reunion, I hope,” said Jenny stiffly, which was probably the wrong thing to say, but—she’d been caught off guard, okay, give her a break.

“No, I suppose not,” said Rupert distantly, and just kept standing there. This was very unlike Rupert, who generally had some sort of plan in mind. He’d dropped by, once, to inform Angel that Buffy was dead. According to Cordelia, he’d hung around for a bit longer than he needed to—though he didn’t say it then, it was clear he had wanted to see Jenny.

She was glad they hadn’t seen each other then. That had been right after they got back from Pylea, back when Jenny had been sitting in a room scrawled with equations and symbols, reading to Fred in a low, soothing voice from old programming manuals. Jenny, lonely, helpless, would have given anything for someone to hold her close then, and Rupert—Rupert had always wanted to hold someone close. That was something that had always frustrated her about him, because he never seemed to be able to admit it.

“Are you going to stand out here all day?” Jenny asked. The conversation felt strange and inane.

“I suppose not,” said Rupert again, and turned as if to go.

Jenny stared, furious not only that Rupert wasn’t giving her a straight answer, but that he was making her worry about him. “Come  _in,_ ” she said sharply, too annoyed to remember that Rupert could be a vampire playing tricks.

Rupert gave her a reproachful look, one that made Jenny feel a rush of relief; _this_ she knew. “You haven’t learned much in the last four years, I see,” he said thinly, and stepped in and around her.

Honestly? Jenny didn’t know what the fuck she was feeling right now. She wanted to be angry at his barbed insult, or worried at his unexpected visit, but the only clear emotion she could distinguish from the mix was _exhausted,_ and that wasn’t even an emotion. “Why—” she began.

This was, of course, when Connor started to cry from the bedroom.

“Oh, _great,_ ” said Jenny, hurrying through the kitchenette and into the small bedroom. Connor hadn’t really been adjusting well to not being around his dad or Cordelia, and it wasn’t doing much for Jenny’s self-esteem. She picked him up from the crib, bouncing him awkwardly. “Shh,” she whispered. This did nothing.

Rupert rounded the corner and stopped at the sight of Jenny and Connor, a stricken look in his eyes. Jenny realized that the right thing to do would be to tell Rupert to leave so she can calm Connor down, but before she could, he said in this small, shaken voice, “You have a child?”

For the _love of god._ “Rupert,” said Jenny, “why are you here at this time of night?”

“I don’t—know,” said Rupert jerkily. “I left for England and, and found myself here, I think. I changed the tickets, looked up your address—Jenny, you always know what to do. Always have.”

“Wonderful,” said Jenny. “My ex-boyfriend, who I haven’t seen in four years, seems to think he knows me well enough to come to my apartment, insult me, ask about my having a baby like he still has feelings for me, and _then_ act like he’s somehow entitled to my advice. Amazing.”

This was where she meant to tell Rupert to get out. But then she made the mistake of looking at him, and he looked—hollow from the inside out. There was a strange sort of nothingness in his eyes; no trace of affection or emotion or even reaction to what she had just said.

“Sleep on the couch,” she heard herself say. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Rupert nodded, still looking at her as though he still didn’t quite understand why he was there. Then he turned and headed back towards the couch, half-collapsing onto it.

* * *

 

She found out the next day that he’d been drunk. Had he showed up a few hours earlier, she might have noticed, and had she noticed, she might have been a hell of a lot angrier than she had been upon seeing him. But it had been late, and she had been drowsy enough that small details had escaped her, and the strangeness of Rupert was something that lingered even when he was hungover. His expression was shuttered and distant even now that he was awake—he was the perfect picture of composure.

“I’m all right, thank you,” he said when she offered him some aspirin.

Jenny decided to focus on Connor instead. He was still pretty fussy, and it was clear he missed Angel, but there wasn’t a whole lot either of them could do about that until Holtz was out of the picture. There were a thousand and one wards up to protect Jenny and Connor from anyone with ill intent, which—probably meant that whatever Rupert was here for, it wasn’t something bad.

“Hey,” she said to Connor in the kitchen, trying to bounce him the way she’d seen Cordelia do. He didn’t seem that into it, so she steadied him instead. “Hey. Your dad loves you _so_ so much, you know that? He’s out there right now fighting bad guys just for your little scrunched-up face.” Jenny felt woefully inadequate at the whole baby-talk thing. “I wish we didn’t have to lay low,” she said to Connor. “I miss Fred. She was fun to talk mathematical theories with. I was teaching her programming, you know that?”

Connor snuffled and grabbed at Jenny’s hair.

“It’s all fun and games until the kid starts pulling,” said Jenny to herself, and headed back out into the living room. Rupert was watching television with that same vacant expression. “Here,” she said, and gave him Connor to hold. “You’re both causing me a lot of trouble—maybe you can cause each other trouble instead.”

Rupert looked down at Connor and his face softened a little.

“He’s not my baby,” Jenny added belatedly, if only because she was a little worried about Rupert.

“Hmm,” said Rupert, and smoothed down the little knitted hat Connor was wearing. Connor looked up at Rupert with interest.

 _Oh, great,_ Jenny thought, _the baby likes him more than me. Icing on top of the goddamn cake._ She stood in front of them for a few more seconds, then said, “You do need to tell me why you’re here.”

“Honestly, Jenny, I really don’t know,” said Rupert heavily. “I headed to the airport with full intent of heading to England, and next thing I know I’m waking up, hungover, on your couch, and you’re handing me a baby. It’s a bit much to take in.”

“You remember last night, though, right?” said Jenny, surprised and a little worried. She sat down in the chair next to him.

“Distantly,” said Rupert. “It isn’t the alcohol, it’s just—” He exhaled. “I’ve been alone, I think,” he said, “for too long, and I think it’s affected me—adversely. And I, I didn’t know—who else—” He let out a sobbing breath, then handed Connor hastily back to Jenny. “I’m a damn mess,” he said finally. “Wouldn’t want it to affect the child.”

“His dad’s Angel,” said Jenny. “This kid is a _guaranteed_ mess.” She said it lovingly, though, because Angel was the kind of mess who mostly just needed a listening ear once in a while and a mug of pig’s blood brought to him while he was brooding.

It took her by surprise that Rupert (Watcher and researcher and lover of knowledge) didn’t immediately bombard her with questions about how a vampire’s child could be possible. It made her wonder what had changed in the last four years; he used to get so much _joy_ from the work he did. Instead, he just said, “I’m sorry I came, Jenny. It was wholly out of order, and it must have been extremely unpleasant for you.”

Jenny nodded. “It was,” she said, remembering again to be a little angry—at Rupert for coming to her, at herself for letting him in. “You can’t just show up on my doorstep with the expectation that nothing’s changed.”

“I haven’t seen you in four years,” said Rupert, and he gave her this wobbly little smile—and it had been a _very_ long time that someone had smiled at Jenny like that, the hesitant mixture of affection and attraction. Her heart picked up, despite itself. “I suppose I wasn’t thinking things through.”

“Plus you were pretty drunk,” Jenny added, trying to steer the conversation away from any possible romantic overtures.

The half-hopeful look on Rupert’s face dissipated and he nodded awkwardly. “I was,” he said. Then, “I’m sorry you saw me like that.”

A memory came back to Jenny, one she’d locked away two miles out of Sunnydale and promised herself she’d never think of again: the expression on Rupert’s face as she’d pressed the floppy disk into his hand and told him, quietly, that saving Sunnydale would have to be up to him and the kids from now on. He’d looked devastated, but it was clear that his anguish was a by-product of his own guilt, and…and she hated that he blamed himself for choices she made. She hated his tendency to do that.

“I let you in because I was worried about you,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. She didn’t know how to feel, looking at him. This was someone she’d loved more than she thought herself capable of, and someone who, time and time again, had left her feeling wrung-out and lonely. Leaving Sunnydale had been the right decision, she knew, but leaving Rupert wasn’t as easy a choice to parse. “Whatever we are…you’re still someone who had an incredibly huge impact on my life, Rupert. You should know that.” She had to look away when she said it; she couldn’t look into his eyes and watch that sweet, shy smile spread across his face. “Don’t apologize to me,” she finished awkwardly, and looked up again.

And that empty look in Rupert’s eyes was gone. He still looked so much older than she remembered him, weighed down by loss and a tangible grief, but he no longer looked like a shell of himself, and something about that reassured Jenny. “I’m sorry, still, for imposing,” he said, and it no longer sounded like a vague placation. “My problems are my own, and we’ve been apart for far too long for me to expect—”

“You should have other people besides me,” said Jenny quietly. “You know that, right? It’s not good that I’m your go-to girl, and it definitely isn’t good that it took you like four years to come to.”

“The children—” Rupert exhaled. “Either they need me too much to be healthy or they don’t need me at all,” he said, “and I could never divulge my personal struggles and failings to them. I cannot imagine burdening them with my problems.”

“And you’d burden _me,_ ” said Jenny, only half-joking. The responding look on Rupert’s face made her somewhat more aware of the fact that perhaps this wasn’t the right time to make that sort of a joke. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just—Rupert, you know your worries and fears shouldn’t be something you just bottle up, right? You need _some_ kind of an outlet, even if it’s not—” And then she stopped, grinning.

“What is it?” said Rupert.

* * *

 

“Oh, _snickerdoodle,_ ” said Lorne disapprovingly as soon as he saw that Jenny was holding Connor. “You know that baby’s dad is gonna kill you if he knows you’re parading his son around town, right? This place isn’t exactly _undercover._ ” Here he glanced pointedly over at a few Wolfram and Hart execs, one of them—oh goddamn it. _Today_ of all days?

“Jenny, _what_ is your plan right now?” Rupert asked, looking a mixture of bewildered and annoyed. Something about that felt comfortingly familiar.

At the Wolfram and Hart table, Lilah Morgan raised a perfectly manicured hand to wave gracefully to Jenny. Jenny, who did _not_ care to relive the whole why-did-you-sleep-with-a-lawyer-from-Wolfram-and-Hart conversation that she’d had with Angel a few months ago, gave Lilah a tense smile in return.

“Really don’t think you thought this one through, cream puff,” said Lorne, taking Connor from Jenny. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Rupert,” said Jenny. “He needs a reading.”

“A reading important enough to bring Connor down to the biggest demon hotspot in LA?” said Lorne skeptically.

“You’re kidding yourself, honey,” said Jenny, patting Lorne’s shoulder.

“A _reading?_ ” Rupert repeated, now sounding just annoyed. “Jenny, I don’t need—”

“You came for my help, didn’t you?” said Jenny to Rupert, and didn’t wait for an answer, turning back to Lorne. “It’ll be quick and I’ll pay you,” she said.

“You know I’m going to do it for free,” Lorne grumbled, turning to Rupert. “All right, crumpet, let’s get cooking. Sing a few notes for me, will ya?”

“Am I correct in assuming you’re Pylean?” inquired Rupert, cocking his head as he looked at Lorne.

Lorne looked a little taken aback. “You could say that,” he said finally, “though I don’t like affiliating myself with the people I grew up around.”

Rupert nodded, then quietly hummed a few bars of something that sounded vaguely like a ballad. Lorne had a strange look on his face when Rupert was done—sort of sad and disapproving at the same time.

“Oh, Rupert,” he said. “You can’t push people away just because you’re afraid of holding them too close.”

Jenny frowned. “Lorne, what—” she began, but Lorne held up a hand.

“I don’t push anyone away,” said Rupert, stiff and somewhat defensive.

“She needs you,” said Lorne. “You know she does. And your leaving is just hurting her more—”

“She shouldn’t need me,” said Rupert, and his voice shook. “And I care for her too much to be truly of help to her. I would only hold her back.”

But Lorne shook his head. “You can’t pick and choose what kind of a parent you are,” he said. “And make no mistake, Rupert—you are a parent to that girl, not a Watcher, and I think you know it deep down. But parents don’t get to bail when they’re afraid they love their kid too much to be of help. That decision is only ever up to the kid to make.”

Rupert looked first stunned, then affronted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said finally. “You can’t possibly—”

“Rupert,” said Jenny quietly. “Rupert, why is he talking about you bailing on Buffy?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking _about,_ ” said Rupert flatly. “I made the right decision—I made a _difficult_ decision, and—”

“Tell me,” said Jenny.

Rupert faltered. “It isn’t,” he began, then, “You said yourself we haven’t seen each other in four years, Jenny, who are you to demand I tell you anything?”

She could tell he was trying to hurt her in some misguided attempt to keep her from asking anything else. Well, screw that. Jenny Calendar wasn’t dissuaded that easily. “I’m not demanding,” she said, quiet and deliberate. “All I’m saying is that if you honestly believe you made the right decision, you’ll be able to look straight into my eyes and tell me exactly what you did.”

It took Rupert almost thirty seconds to finally make eye contact with her. When he did, he just looked at her, a long, hungry stare as though he thought he might never get to look at her in this way again. Then, softly, he said, “I’ll be returning to Sunnydale, I think.”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, who was smart enough to have pieced together what Rupert had done on her own—or enough of it, at least, to understand his newfound guilt. “Yeah, I think so too.”

Rupert nodded, and nodded, and then stepped forward, placing a hand on Jenny’s shoulder and pressing a quiet kiss to her cheek. “I must admit I did idealize you over these last years,” he said softly, “but the Jenny Calendar I found here is better than any woman I could have dreamed up or hoped for.”

It wasn’t a statement meant to win her over, or prove anything about his character; it was very clearly something he said because he needed her to know it, and something he genuinely, truly believed. Jenny stared at him, frustrated and a little hurt, as he let his hand drop, turning and leaving the bar.

“Sugarplum,” said Lorne from next to her, “I don’t need to read your songs to tell you that you and him aren’t _close_ to over.”

* * *

 

She didn’t have feelings for him. That part, at least, Jenny was sure of. Time and hurt had dulled her love for him into something that wasn’t quite as painfully ardent—a quiet, affectionate sort of thing that didn’t seem quite as romantic. She looked at him and she wanted him to be happy, and that was the end of it.

Or—a qualifier worth noting was that she _couldn’t_ have feelings for someone she hadn’t seen in four years, someone who she herself was guilty of idealizing just a bit and who she really didn’t know all that well anymore. She _wanted_ to get to know him again, certainly, but she had a very strong sense that trying to know him now would mean taking charge of helping him get his life together, and she didn’t feel prepared to take on that kind of responsibility.

“It’s ridiculous,” she said to Connor, sleepy and soft, cuddled on the bed with him in the crook of her arm. She was getting better at this whole single-kind-of-aunt thing—practice made perfect, and the kid wasn’t too much of a handful once he liked you. “You’d think I’d know my own mind well enough to know what my feelings are for a guy.”

Connor made a burbly noise and closed his eyes, and Jenny wondered where Rupert was right now. Taking the plane home, maybe, or waiting in the airport for the first flight out to Sunnydale. She hoped he wasn’t going to England, not with Buffy only barely back from the grave; that girl really did need Rupert there to guide her and support her.

“He worries about everyone,” she said softly. “I guess he gets used to people not worrying about him.”

* * *

 

The stuff with Holtz and Sahjhan was starting to take a lot longer than everyone had planned for, and something else was happening too: Jenny was starting to really like the quiet simplicity of taking care of a baby. And yeah, any new parent (or old parent, even) could tell you that taking care of a baby was definitely no picnic, but when you’re comparing it to being eaten alive by some weird demon in a sewer or almost getting toxic-slimed or getting bitten by something poisonous and contagious that had you quarantined in the Hyperion for a week, waiting for the scales to stop growing? Definitely seemed one hell of a lot easier.

She felt almost ashamed that she was so comfortable with the concept of normalcy, partially because so many of the people she cared about couldn’t seem to cope with it. And she still wasn’t really sure if she was ready to be a mom—it was one hell of a lot easier when she knew that this wasn’t a permanent gig, because she was always a little worried that she’d end up messing Connor up for good. But it was kind of nice to go to sleep at a regular hour, no patrolling or vampire-slaying required—and getting woken by a crying baby was _worlds_ better than getting woken by some demon or another. It reminded her of that blissfully quiet year before she met Angel at a club in LA and he invited her to work with him.

Maybe something normal and quiet was what Jenny wanted. She hadn’t had a lot of time to figure it out.

She’d meant to decide on exactly what she wanted to do with her life back when she left Sunnydale that first time around. It had been the only reason she’d felt that leaving Rupert was the right thing to do for _her,_ but…what was she doing, now? Glorified babysitting, sleeping most of the day, and cashing in the rent checks covertly sent through the mail by Cordelia. Rupert’s arrival was the only interesting thing that had happened to her since she and Connor had arrived in the apartment.

Jenny went out to the local library and read to Connor from the board books, and started to think about how loneliness could eat at a person without them even realizing it.

* * *

 

About three weeks after Rupert’s visit, Jenny came back with Connor and the groceries to find a blinking light on her answering machine. Gently setting Connor down in his high chair, she played the message.

 _“Ms. Calendar? This is, uh, this is Buffy. Angel gave me this number and said you were, you were taking some time off to raise a baby, which—congratulations, I guess. Giles didn’t tell us a lot about what went down when he visited you. Anyway, I just wanted to—”_ A shaky inhalation before the message continued. _“You know, I never talked to you after you left Sunnydale, and that—that wasn’t fair to you, considering what you did for us. I was, I was young, and vindictive, and I didn’t know how to apologize for that back then. B-but I think an apology’s due now, I—”_ An almost-sob. _“I needed him here. So much. And you got him to come back for me, and—he’s been here, and I’m going back to college, and it feels—like—like I have someone here for me. Really here for me. Not just someone who wants me to be all better again.”_

Jenny was leaning against the wall with a wobbly smile on her face.

_“I, I wanted to know if you’d—if you wanted to go out for coffee next week? To talk? I’m thinking of flying up to LA with Dawn. We could really both use some kind of a vacation, and from what Angel was saying, it seems like maybe you might too. So. Call me back if—if you want. ‘Cause that’d be really cool. Okay. Bye.”_

Jenny switched the machine off and sort of started crying. Connor, seeing that she was upset, made an audible noise of distress from the high chair, and she stumbled over to him, picking him up and holding him close. “It’s okay,” she sniffled. “It’s good. I’m good.”

And, shit, she really was? Because she had still sometimes thought about that day she’d left Sunnydale, about Buffy catching her arm hard enough to bruise and saying, with the sort of unbridled anger that came only from an incredibly hurt teenager, _you don’t deserve Giles if you’re going to leave him when he needs you the most._ She had still wondered, if she’d ever come back to Sunnydale: would Buffy have ever been able to forgive her, or would Buffy have still been stubbornly in the mindset of Jenny being the worst of the worst?

Some small, deeply hurt part of Jenny had stopped hurting quite as much after listening to that message. She pressed a soft kiss to the top of Connor’s head (wondering, very secretly, if maybe kids were a thing she might actually want to have somewhere very far down the line), placed him down on the sofa, and called Buffy back.

The phone picked up on the first ring. “Hey!” said Jenny, too nervous to wait for clarification that she had, in fact, called the Summers residence. “This is Jenny returning your call—”

“ _Oh,”_ said Rupert, sounding surprised and a little shy. _“Um, hello, Jenny.”_

Jenny’s heart fluttered. “Hey,” she said, smiling slightly and twisting the cord of the phone idly around one finger. “I was just gonna call Buffy, but maybe I should also talk to you.”

_“Oh?”_

“No need to get all apprehensive,” said Jenny, meaning to sound teasing but coming out more affectionate than anything. She winced a little, but soldiered on. “Buffy left a very nice message on my machine regarding how much your being in Sunnydale means to her. She implied that you’ve been paying for her tuition?”

A brief pause, and then Rupert said, _“Your friend Lorne was right. I’m not even close to a Watcher, and—and I think Buffy and I rather prefer the situation that way.”_

“So do a lot of us,” said Jenny. “That organization’s done some pretty messed up stuff in its time."

 _“As did I when I was a part of it,”_ said Rupert heavily.

“Hey,” said Jenny playfully. “Now’s not the time for a pity party, Rupert. You did good. Embrace it.”

Rupert was quiet for another moment. When he next spoke, his voice was low and unspeakably tender. _“You are a marvel, Jenny,”_ he said. _“I cannot possibly thank you enough.”_

And it was strange, and sort of frightening, but the feeling Jenny was feeling wasn’t a dizzy rush of passionate infatuation—nothing like the way she’d felt around him four years ago. What she was feeling was…the word for it wasn’t _dulled,_ Jenny realized then, but _concrete._ Solid and unchanging.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, and smiled. “Is Buffy there? I do still need to return the call she made.”

 _“Oh—of course._ ” Rupert sounded like he was smiling too. There was a muffled conversation that Jenny couldn’t quite make out, and then silence save for quiet breathing on the other end of the line.

“Hey,” said Jenny, trying to keep her voice light and upbeat. She wasn’t sure how Buffy was going to react to them actually talking to each other.

 _“Hi,_ ” came Buffy’s voice, hesitant and almost pre-apologetic.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Then, Jenny, biting the bullet, finally managed, “What—”

 _“Ms. Calendar I am so so so sorry!”_ Buffy’s voice was trembling and she sounded near tears. _“The way Giles was when he came back, he kept on saying how mad at him you were for leaving me when I needed him, and, and I always thought when you left that you just—left, you know? Without looking back. But if you had the chance to get Giles back and sent him back to me instead—”_ Her voice broke. _“I’m, like, the dumbest of the dumb,”_ she said. _“And I figured it out like three months after you left, but—I didn’t have your number, and then I did but I didn’t want to call you when you might not even care about me at all—”_

“Hey,” said Jenny. “Hey. Buffy. You were a seventeen-year-old and you thought that your first love was dead. I have _never_ held your anger or your actions against you.”

_“But I held such an awful grudge—”_

“It’s okay,” said Jenny, and she really meant it. “It was a long time ago, and—” She found it difficult to continue, all of a sudden. She was thinking about the way she’d felt turning away from Rupert, about what it might have been like to get to be really, properly in love with the guy for four years. “It sucked,” she said honestly. “It did. But you can’t go back and change the past, and I know you’re a really good kid.”

_“I hope so.”_

“I _know_ so,” said Jenny assertively. From the high chair, Connor uttered a plaintive sound that meant he wanted her attention, and she sighed. “Duty calls,” she said. “Any day I should be expecting you by?”

 _“Will Wednesday be okay?”_ Buffy asked nervously.

“Wednesday will be great,” said Jenny, who was already running a mental list of kid-friendly coffee shops nearby. “Say, two o’clock? You can meet Connor.”

_“Connor?”_

“It’s complicated,” said Jenny, because it was, and she didn’t want to risk Wolfram and Hart getting wind of any information. Angel had mentioned that they’d tapped the phone lines and were doing their best to listen in on her for any clues regarding Connor’s parentage. “But, um, I’m seriously really looking forward to—you know. Catching up.”

 _“Me too,_ ” said Buffy, and she sounded genuinely happy. Connor knocked his rattle very pointedly off the high chair and shrieked.

* * *

 

Dawn, now in that too-tall awkward-teenager phase, was taking pictures of the decorative menu outside the café and trying to harangue Rupert into getting into the shot. “Move left,” she was saying as Jenny walked up to them with the stroller. Rupert moved very determinedly right, then caught sight of Jenny and turned pink. _“Left,_ Giles,” Dawn said indignantly, not yet noticing Jenny, “it’s not gonna kill you to be in a few family photo albums, just—”

“Oh,” said Jenny, and grinned at Rupert. “Hey. Buffy didn’t mention you’d be coming up.”

“I-it was a bit of an impulse decision,” Rupert confessed, still blushing. “Besides which, I think I like going on plane rides with the girls. They make things interesting.”

“Hi, Ms. Calendar!” said Dawn brightly, turning with the camera and snapping a candid shot of Jenny and Connor, the latter asleep in his stroller. “Oh my gosh your baby’s so cute!”

“Dawn, you need to _ask_ before you do that,” Rupert gently reprimanded.

“Oh. Whoops.” Dawn looked earnestly up at Jenny over the camera. “Is it cool, retroactively, that I already took your picture?”

“Retroactively, yes,” said Jenny, and stopped the stroller next to Dawn, stepping up to give Rupert a hug. She felt like he deserved it, all the good he was doing. “It’s good to see you,” she said quietly, so that only he could hear, and pulled back just a little to look properly at him. He looked better than when she’d last seen him, though that last time had set the bar pretty low. He still looked that same kind of tired, but Jenny suspected that that was a thing that came with getting older and lonelier over the course of four years. Which made her feel a little sad, because—

“All right, you two, break it up,” came Buffy’s voice, “you’re both just staring at each other and it’s weird. I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting coffee with Ms. Calendar while the stragglers hit up that bookstore across the street, remember?”

Jenny and Rupert stepped back, both of them smiling a little sheepishly. “I’ll see you—later, then,” said Rupert.

“Sounds good,” said Jenny, and turned to Buffy, who suddenly looked a little nervous. Trying not to reveal her own nerves (hey, _one_ of them had to be the calm one), Jenny stepped around Rupert and pulled Buffy into a brief, somewhat awkward hug. “It’s good to see you too,” she said. “You look—”

Something in her fractured a little when she got her first proper look at Buffy. The Buffy Jenny remembered was a tiny seventeen-year-old with an easy-sweet smile on her face, someone who had been so thrown and frightened by the loss of Angel. This Buffy carried sadness and loss in her eyes, and stood like she didn’t even have to think about their presence anymore.

“You’ve grown up,” said Jenny finally, and wished Buffy hadn’t.

“Everyone does, someday,” said Buffy, and shrugged.

Later, if asked to pinpoint a specific moment, Jenny would always say that it was then that she and Buffy finally reached common ground. “We should go inside,” she said, “get something horrible and sugary with a few bad drinks to go with it.” She stepped back over to the stroller, pushing it back towards the café.

“She’s underage,” Rupert called over his shoulder as Dawn towed him towards the bookstore. “If you let her drink I will be _thoroughly_ disapproving.”

“Gotcha,” Jenny called back to him, grinning. “Strip clubs and _non-_ alcoholic drinks, then.”

Buffy was watching the two of them with a stunned smile on her face. When Jenny turned back to her, she said, “He hasn’t looked like that since—” and let the sentence drop a little clumsily.

“I like him looking like that,” said Jenny. “Happy. He deserves it.”

“He really does,” said Buffy, and they entered the café together, the little bell above the door ringing cheerfully. “So, I just—I mean, my phone message covered a lot of it, but—how are you?”

“Well, I have a baby now,” said Jenny, and her mouth twitched at Buffy’s bad attempt to not look curious. “Angel didn’t brief you on the whole baby situation?”

“What— _oh!_ ” Buffy looked genuinely relieved. “You mean—when he called last week about Connor—oh, okay. Because I was starting to think, you know, Willow said Giles went up to LA around the time I died, and, and the timeline would kinda—” Off Jenny’s look, she winced. “You know, I think I’m going to stop talking right about now,” she said.

Jenny tried not to laugh. “It’s okay,” she said. “Kinda figured I’d be fielding some awkward questions about the baby’s father sooner or later.”

Buffy looked over and into the stroller. “He’s pretty cute,” she observed, grinning in a way that made her actually look her age. “Super teensy. Are all babies like that, or is he a special case?”

“I wouldn’t be the best person to ask,” said Jenny, and leaned over as well. Connor hadn’t yet woken up, still cuddling the small teddy bear Angel had covertly sent over. She studied him for a moment, tucked the blanket very carefully around him, then looked back up at Buffy. “What about you?”

“What?”

“How are things going with you?”

Buffy’s smile flickered. “Well,” she said, “I almost started sleeping with Spike. That wasn’t great. Giles wants me to start seeing a therapist, because he thinks that’ll help me come to terms with all the stuff I’m dealing with. Willow’s in a kind of magic-user rehab in England, and Xander and Anya are on the rocks all the time, and—” She exhaled, smiling a little nervously. “Giles _tries,_ ” she said. “He does. But sometimes I feel like we all need him way too much.”

Jenny considered this. “He making any new friends?”

Buffy scoffed. “It’s _Giles,_ ” she said. “I’m pretty sure the last time he made a new friend was _you._ ”

Jenny was saved from having to respond to that when Connor woke up and, upset about being in a new location, started to cry. Hastily, she picked him up, humming an old song that maybe her mom might have sung to her when she was very little. He quieted, but he was pretty clearly still not into the café.

“Seems like he takes after his dad,” said Buffy, and started giggling at Jenny’s badly hidden smile. “Should we maybe take him back to your apartment?”

“He’ll deal,” said Jenny. “I won’t have him growing up a total shut-in.”

“At least you know where he gets it from,” Buffy quipped. “I’ll go order. You wanna grab a table?”

“Sure,” said Jenny, smiling, and awkwardly steered the stroller over to a corner table, trying her best not to jostle Connor in her arms. He looked up at her with wide, upset eyes when they sat down. “Hey,” she said. “Relax. I’m here, and I wouldn’t take you anywhere unsafe, okay? You know that.”

Connor was definitely way too young to really understand what she had just said, but the cadence of Jenny’s voice seemed to relax him. He closed his eyes, turning his head a little so that his tiny cheek rested against her shoulder.

“Oh,” said Jenny softly. “Okay.”

Buffy came over with two pastries, smiling a little when she saw Connor snuggled up on Jenny’s shoulder. “You still like blueberry muffins and black coffee, right?” she asked apprehensively. “I only remember ‘cause Giles always made this whole production out of getting you coffee back in junior year—”

“Right on the nose,” said Jenny easily. “I _love_ black coffee, and this establishment makes some of the best.” She moved over in the small wooden booth to make space for Buffy, who sat down next to her. “So tell me more about college.”

Buffy slid the muffin over to Jenny, then said, “Um, it’s good, I guess. Willow’s not in college anymore, and Xander’s still got that carpentry thing he’s doing, so me and Tara have been spending a lot of time together.”

“Tara?”

“Willow’s—” Buffy stopped, then laughed a little bitterly. “Almost called her Willow’s _girlfriend,_ ” she said. “Willow and Tara broke up. She’s been staying with us while she gets her feet on the ground.” She frowned a little distantly. “Is that the right expression? Or is it—I feel like it might be _standing on her own two feet,_ or something.”

Sensing a characteristic Buffy tangent, Jenny steered the conversation back into more coherent waters. “It’s good that Tara has someone there for her,” she said. “And—just based off of that message you left me, I’m incredibly glad that the same can be said for you.”

Buffy smiled a little, glancing over through the front window of the café. Outside the bookstore, Dawn was sorting through the bargain books while Rupert struggled to carry five or six expensive-looking older volumes. “Yeah, me too,” she said. “How about you?”

“What?”

“Well, you haven’t just been hanging with Connor all this time, right?”

Jenny tried to smile. “You know the situation with Connor,” she said. “We’re kind of supposed to be underground at the moment until we’re sure the Hyperion is a safe place for a baby.” This was as close to the truth as she could say out in the open, but she figured Buffy would get the gist of it.

Buffy did. “He’s not safe up here in LA, then?” she said casually.

“Not as safe as he should be,” said Jenny bitterly. She’d grown up around people like Holtz. She could understand his vitriolic hatred of Angelus—hell, she could second it, even—but she _couldn’t_ understand his condemnation of Angel as completely irredeemable, and she hated that he might hurt Connor in his vengeance-driven quest. “But his dad’s hell-bent on keeping him here, so here we are.”

“Yeah, his dad is kind of an idiot,” said Buffy matter-of-factly.

Surprised, Jenny laughed. “A little bit!” she said. “But—I mean, he wants to keep his kid safe. I can’t exactly resent him for that.”

“So he’s keeping his kid safe by hiding him in a city that isn’t safe for him?” Buffy said skeptically. “That really doesn’t seem smart. That seems more like he just wants his kid in the same city as him.”

Jenny sighed. “Can you blame him?” she said. “This world is such a crazy place. I’d be afraid to let go of love if I found it again, and after so long—” She realized what she was saying, flushed, and stopped. Then, awkwardly, she said, “You’re right, though. I should try and get into contact with him, convince him to be…” She trailed off. “Practical,” she finally said.

“Seems like a plan,” said Buffy, eyes twinkling with a merriment that Jenny _did_ remember. She was reminded of the mischievous sixteen-year-old, all bouncy ponytails and bright smiles. _No, I have a free._ “And what do you know, now that Tara’s finally renting an apartment, my place has a spare bedroom! What place is safer than the bona fide Vampire Slayer’s house?”

“Buffy,” said Jenny, smiling a little tiredly.

“Ms. Calendar,” said Buffy, gentle but firm, “I get that things with you and Giles might never be the way they were before. And this honestly isn’t me trying to set you guys up—though don’t get me wrong, I think you two would be _great_ together. Giles says you’ve been living alone, and I don’t like that Angel put you in that position.” Her own smile had faded, replaced with that same tired, sad expression that looked so out of place on such a force of sunshine. “Having someone to take care of but no one to talk to…I know how that feels. I don’t want you to have to go through that.”

God, did Jenny wish that offer wasn’t as tempting as it was. “Angel wouldn’t agree,” she said, mostly to remind herself that it _wasn’t_ a possibility.

“And you think I couldn’t make him?” Buffy quipped.

“I can’t live in the past,” said Jenny helplessly.

“You can’t run from it either,” said Buffy simply. “Look, it’s not—you don’t have to make up your mind right now, just…keep it in mind, okay?” The waitress showed up with a coffee and an overly stylish hot chocolate. “Thanks,” said Buffy, her eyes still on Jenny.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” said Jenny quietly.

* * *

 

It wasn’t that Jenny didn’t _like_ the idea of returning to Sunnydale. She did. More than she wanted to. It was that Jenny had _left._ She had made that choice, and it had taken her a long, painful few nights of deliberation to make it. Returning to Sunnydale meant acknowledging that her decision to leave had been the wrong one. That concept _hurt,_ especially when coupled with her rekindled feelings for Rupert. Platonic, romantic, whatever it was, she felt _something_ for him, and it was something that wasn’t as easily buried the second time around.

Returning to Sunnydale felt like returning to Rupert. Returning to him meant that she never should have left.

“So how many strip clubs did she drag you to?” Rupert was asking Buffy playfully, handing her a large stack of books.

“What are _these_ for?” Buffy teased, grinning back. “God, Giles, can you go _anywhere_ without picking up half a library?”

“It’s the librarian in him—” Dawn chimed in.

Jenny watched the three of them and— _god,_ did she hate how easily she could imagine herself with them. Four years could have been enough to patch things up with Buffy, get to know Dawn, help Willow, and she’d _left._ What the hell was keeping her here?

Connor woke up and immediately began to cry again.

Oh. Right. Jenny crossed to pick him up from the stroller, bouncing him in her arms. Turning to Rupert and the girls, she said with a nervous laugh, “He might be a little tired, I should probably—”

“I’ll see you home,” said Rupert abruptly. Behind him, Buffy and Dawn had identical delighted grins.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Jenny began.

“Nonsense,” said Rupert. “What sort of fellow would I be if I let a lady walk home alone?” He stepped forward, taking the stroller. “Buffy, Dawn, you don’t mind heading back in the direction of the hotel?”

“Here’s an idea,” said Dawn. “Why don’t _we_ take care of the baby and _you_ two take the hotel room?”

Buffy elbowed Dawn, Jenny and Rupert exchanged a wry, amused look, and all of a sudden it felt like Jenny had never left at all. She covered up her blush by turning back to the girls. “Sweet as that offer is,” she said, shifting Connor (who, while significantly calmer, was still clinging to her leather jacket), “I’m this kid’s primary protector.”

“What’s better protection than a Vampire Slayer?” Dawn persisted. “And you guys could _both_ use a break—”

“Thank you, Dawn, but I think my walking Jenny home will suffice,” said Rupert patiently. “I assume you two can reach the hotel safely? Hang on—” He rummaged in his wallet, then pressed a few twenties into Buffy’s hand. “Cab fare, plus extra if you want a snack at the hotel,” he said.

“Thanks, Dad,” said Buffy, light and playful, but the sentiment in her voice was clear.

Rupert flushed, but he was smiling a bit. “Of course,” he said.

Buffy and Dawn headed to go flag down a cab, and Jenny and Rupert were left with a snuffling Connor. “I’m not really that good at this,” she said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Don’t be absurd,” said Rupert, beginning to push the stroller alongside Jenny. “He adores you.”

“Smart kid,” said Jenny.

“Indeed,” said Rupert.

They’d stopped walking. Why had they stopped walking? They’d barely gotten two feet away from the café, and Rupert was looking at Jenny’s mouth, and Jenny was suddenly feeling this terrible bubble of anxiety in her chest.

“Jenny—” said Rupert.

“I can’t come back to Sunnydale,” said Jenny before she could stop herself.

Rupert frowned a little. “What?” he said.

Jenny exhaled, embarrassed. “Can we just keep walking?” she said.

“All right,” said Rupert, still looking somewhat bemused, and fell into step with Jenny.

Eyes on the street in front of them, Jenny said, “I left, you know? That was my decision. Going back on it now feels like—”

“No, I’m sorry, I think we _should_ stop walking,” said Rupert, sounding all but stunned. “Jenny, are you trying to tell me that you’re considering coming back to Sunnydale?”

“ _No,_ ” said Jenny, and goddamn it, _this_ blush was impossible to hide.

Rupert gave her a Look.

“I don’t like that you and the kids make me want to come back,” said Jenny reluctantly. “I closed that door a while ago, leaving the way I did.”

Rupert looked somewhat exasperated. “Oh, for—” He let go of the stroller, crossing around it to stand in front of Jenny. “Doors don’t close,” he said. “Not permanently. It’s hard work to rebuild trust, rebuild love, but it is _always_ worth it. And considering that you’re the one who pushed me back into returning to Sunnydale in the first place, I think you should follow your own damn advice.”

“Those were _completely_ different circumstances!” Jenny objected, indignant.

“No, they really weren’t, because you _left,”_ said Rupert fiercely. “You left because you thought you weren’t needed, and that you might cause harm by staying. You left people who loved— _love_ —you, and I think you know they never really stopped. You left, and you _know_ it was the wrong choice, but you’re afraid that the people you hurt will be angry at you if you return after being gone for so long, after making them think you might never come back. Jenny, Jenny,” he caught her hand in his, making sure she still had a steady grip on Connor, “they’re not different circumstances at all. I left, and I thought I could never come back without hurting Buffy more, but all I was doing was hurting myself. I _don’t_ want you making that mistake.”

Jenny’s heart was pounding. “I didn’t,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“I didn’t know you never stopped loving me,” said Jenny, feeling a little dizzy. “I never knew you loved me at all.”

Rupert blinked. Jenny could actually see him working back over what he’d said. Slowly, his face paled. “Oh,” he said weakly.

Jenny waited for him to take it back. She waited for him to want to take it back. But Rupert was looking at her with the same kind of anguish that he’d had all those years ago, the day she’d left Sunnydale for good. Like he thought his admission had lost her all over again. He might not be wrong. “I have to—I should go,” she said jerkily.

“Jenny, no, I—I—”

“I should go,” said Jenny again, tugging her hand free of Rupert’s grip. She took one step, then another, then ran, Connor in her arms, too far gone to even care that she’d left the stroller behind.

* * *

 

Jenny locked the door and put up five extra wards that would keep _anyone_ from coming into her apartment unless they were her or Connor. And she was _fine._ It was fine. Every single part of this was absolutely fucking fine. Rupert loving her for years, missing her, hurting because of her—she’d left because she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. She’d left because she’d thought his devastation at her leaving had been guilt over driving her away, not the same kind of love that had tied her to Sunnydale for so long.

She’d left him, over and over again, because she was so, so scared of hurting him, of getting hurt, because she had never been in love before and she just _knew_ she was going to fuck it up. And she had, hadn’t she? She’d quite literally bolted before he’d gotten the chance to say _I love you._

The phone rang. Jenny swallowed, hard. Rupert had her number; it didn’t seem unreasonable for him to call. She gently set Connor down in his crib, took a few deep breaths, and picked up the phone. “Hey.”

 _“Jenny,”_ said Angel, and he sounded positively joyful. _“Jenny, Holtz is neutralized. It’s over.”_

Jenny almost dropped the phone. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, determined not to let Angel hear her cry. “That’s great,” she said in a strangled voice. “Seriously. So, so you’re swinging by to pick up Connor?”

 _“Actually, I thought you could swing by the Hyperion,”_ said Angel, still absolutely, obliviously happy. _“We’ve missed you, Jenny, and—and god, it’s gonna be good to see my son again. How is he? He’s doing okay?”_

“Angel, I need to go,” said Jenny thinly.

_“Jenny, is everything okay?”_

“Connor’s fine,” said Jenny. Her voice broke, so she said it again, because that was what mattered. “Connor’s fine.” She hung up the phone and crumpled to the floor, and all she could think of was the horrible, hurt look on Rupert’s face.

 _Nothing,_ she thought. _There is nothing keeping me anywhere._

* * *

 

Angel showed up the next day, Cordelia and Wesley and Gunn and Fred all in tow, all of them bubbling over with delighted, self-satisfied, post-apocalyptic energy. Jenny _wanted_ to be happy to see them, but her time away from Angel Investigations made it hard to feel a part of the group again. She gave them all a small, thin smile, handed Connor to Angel (he was just starting to cuddle into her, to let himself be comforted by her), and locked herself in the bedroom under the guise of packing her things, falling back onto the bed.

There was a knock on the door after about fifteen minutes. “Jenny?” called Wesley from the hallway.

“You guys can go on without me!” called back Jenny, who had no intention of ever getting up.

“Jenny,” said Wesley, “I intend to pick this lock if you don’t open the door.”

Irritation cut through Jenny’s despair. Pulling herself up from the bed, she hurried across the room, yanking the door open. “ _What,_ ” she began.

“You’re moping,” said Wesley, fixing her with an annoyingly assessing look.

“Am _not,_ ” said Jenny.

“Is this because Mr. Giles was in Los Angeles?” said Wesley.

“Mind your own fucking business,” said Jenny, remembered that she was supposed to be cheerfully celebrating Holtz’s neutralization, and added, “Also, I’m fine.”

“Jenny, Lorne said—”

“Lorne doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” said Jenny immediately.

“Lorne the _empath demon_ doesn’t know what he’s talking about?” said Wesley skeptically.

“…yes.”

Wesley exhaled. Then he said, “I think you should at least know what Lorne told us.”

“I think you should mind your own business and stick to the stuff you know,” said Jenny coolly.

“Wesley, you are _so_ bad at interventions,” came a voice, and Cordelia rounded the corner, giving Jenny a matter-of-fact stare. “Lorne says Giles is afraid of screwing things up,” she said. “He says it’s mostly Buffy that’s got Giles all worried, but it’s also you, ‘cause he showed up all unexpected and now he thinks he’s killed any chance of you-and-him. And I think you’re afraid _you_ screwed things up, which is dumb, ‘cause you could probably torch Giles’s car and he’d still wanna marry you.”

“You think _Wesley_ is bad at interventions?” said Jenny shortly. “That’s the worst intervention I’ve ever heard. Leave me alone.” She pushed past Cordelia and Wesley, ignored the group crowded around Connor, grabbed her keys from the kitchen table, and hurried out of the apartment, no idea where she was headed.

* * *

 

Angel found her at the Hyperion, in one of the hotel rooms. “You know,” he said, sitting down next to her on the bed, “if you really wanted to be alone, you probably wouldn’t have headed back here.”

“I’m recognizing that now,” said Jenny, staring resolutely up at the ceiling.

“Is that, uh…” Angel trailed off. “Is that the go-ahead for us to talk about what’s bothering you?”

Jenny exhaled. Somehow, it was harder to lie to Angel. She’d spent too much time in Sunnydale doing exactly that. In Los Angeles, she’d tried to always be as above-board with him as possible, but she wasn’t sure how possible it was right now. “I think I’m…” She trailed off. “I think I made a mistake,” she said. “Leaving Sunnydale the way I did. And I think it’s too late to fix things without running the risk of hurting Rupert again.”

Angel was quiet. Then he said, “I don’t think Cordelia did the greatest job of explaining what Lorne told us. Can I try?”

Jenny scooted a little closer to him, letting her shoulder bump his. Then she nodded.

“Lorne said Giles loves you,” said Angel. Jenny felt her breath catch in her throat. “He said Giles’s song was for Buffy, but the whole time you and him were at Caritas, his eyes were for you. Which I think is his way of saying that…” He trailed off. “Jenny, you can’t keep people at arm’s length just because you don’t want them hurt,” he said. “You just end up hurting yourself. And them too, for that matter.”

Jenny swallowed, hard. “Rupert and I have that in common, I guess,” she said quietly. “But it’s not just—it’s not just that, Angel.” She crossed her arms against her chest, staring down at her lap. “I’m scared,” she said finally. “I’m scared of showing back up there and not being wanted. And I-I know it’s not his job, I know he never will, but…I want him to ask me to come back. To tell me that he—that he wants me in his life again.”

She felt Angel’s hand on her shoulder. “I know he’s not going to,” she said. “I know that’s not how this plays out. I told him— _so_ long ago, I told him that I wasn’t coming back, and he’s the kind of guy who takes my words to heart. But I kept on thinking about…about Eyghon, and how he wouldn’t take no for an answer _then,_ and how, how maybe him taking no for an answer _now_ is because he doesn’t—” She stopped, pressing her lips together. She wouldn’t cry over this.

“He doesn’t love you,” Angel finished. “Not in the way you want him to.”

Jenny nodded.

“You want him to listen to you, though, don’t you?”

Jenny nodded again. “You see why I’m kinda fucked up about this,” she said ruefully.

“Just a little bit,” Angel agreed.

“Just a little bit,” Jenny echoed, and laughed wetly.

Angel gently squeezed her shoulder. “Sometimes you have to take the plunge,” he said. “Remember?”

“Yeah, well, this is a little different than jumping into an empty swimming pool full of broken glass,” said Jenny dryly.

“ _There_ she is,” said Angel, grinning. “Look, you’re—” His smile softened. “There aren’t a lot of people I’d trust to keep my son safe,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Jenny smiled slightly. “I'm aware,” she said.

"And Giles is smart enough to know a good thing when one shows up on his doorstep," said Angel. "It's definitely a risk, Jenny, but it's not as big a risk as you think."

 

* * *

Jenny drove down to Sunnydale. She packed one suitcase of clothing for her and a cardboard box of gifts for the kids, and she pulled up in front of Buffy’s house. When she rang the doorbell, Dawn answered, then stepped aside with wide eyes, pointing wordlessly towards the kitchen.

Rupert was washing dishes, wearing a sweater Jenny remembered from years ago. He turned, and when he saw her, his face softened. “Jenny,” he said.

“Someone’s gotta bridge the gap, right?” said Jenny, and tried to smile. “It’s been a while.”

Rupert frowned. “Last we left things—”

“—I was an idiot,” Jenny finished. “Okay? Now, granted, you were too, but you were smart enough to start trying to fix things.” She hesitated. “I left because I thought I would hurt you by staying,” she said.

“I know,” said Rupert.

“I came back because I think I’m hurting myself by staying away,” said Jenny.

“I kn—what?” Rupert looked stunned. “Hurting—but—why on earth would—what?”

“I know we’re not _in_ love,” said Jenny carefully, “but I think we still love each other. And I think I kinda want to…to maybe try and get to that _in love_ point again. If you’re up for that.” She gave him a small, awkward smile. “Look, I’m not very good at—”

Rupert set down the dish towel. “Oh, I’d say you’re doing all right,” he said a bit shakily. He was starting to smile in a way Jenny hadn’t seen in…god, four years. At _least._ “I have missed you, you know.”

“I’ve missed you too,” said Jenny softly.

“It’s been…lonely.”

“I know,” said Jenny. “Me too.” She considered, then amended, “Well, not _really,_ but…we were always on the same wavelength. I missed that.”

“Not _always_ ,” Rupert reminded her.

“No, always,” said Jenny, stepping forward. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t quite bring herself to reach out to him. “Remember that faculty meeting, spring ’96? We wasted the entire time arguing just so Snyder couldn’t assign any of the teachers to chaperone senior prom?”

Rupert took her hands. “It might take us a while to get back to that kind of _simpatico_ ,” he said quietly. “If you’re up for that—”

“I am,” said Jenny. “You’re trying. I think I want to do that too.”

“Oh my _god,”_ came a voice from the hallway. As Jenny and Rupert turned, Buffy stared incredulously at them both. “You two were kissing _all over the place_ junior year,” she said, “and you’re restricting yourself to _hand-holding_ after _four years apart?”_

“Buffy, it isn’t that simple,” said Rupert, looking a mixture of mildly annoyed and _extremely_ embarrassed. “Jenny’s—she’s only just returned, and I should never want to pressure her into—that is, we need to get to know each other again, find out if we’re even compatible—”

And Jenny found that old, familiar, warmly amused feeling rising in her chest. She tugged on Rupert’s hands, and as he turned, she stood on tiptoe, kissing him very gently. Something slotted into place in that moment—something precious, and something she’d thought she’d lost.

“I don’t know _what_ you’d do without me,” said Buffy with satisfaction, and Jenny heard her leave, but didn’t bother to look. She and Rupert were a _little_ busy.

* * *

 

Angel brought Connor down to visit a few months later. “He missed you,” he said, which was pretty obviously a white lie on his part, because Connor was more excited about Dawn’s long, shiny hair than about seeing Jenny. But Connor was still pretty excited to see Jenny, so she didn’t feel too bad about it. “After all, I’m thinking I might have one of my own,” she informed Rupert later, “and _that_ baby will definitely remember me. It’s a biological guarantee.”

Rupert smiled a little. Then he said, “I always rather liked the name _Audrey.”_

“Do not commandeer this process,” said Jenny. “I haven’t even decided if you’re going to be involved.”

“Yes, it’s a bit early in the relationship for that, isn’t it?” Rupert agreed. He frowned. “Or late, depending on how you look at it. Are we counting these four years as—”

“We’re counting starting now,” said Jenny, and draped her arms around his neck.

Rupert kissed her forehead. “I think I like that,” he said.


End file.
